


Away From The Heart And Into The Hands

by Bayyvon



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, death mention, emotional issues, implied past relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-07 20:18:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10368597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bayyvon/pseuds/Bayyvon
Summary: The Joker has been away for a year.





	1. Aria Da Capo

J is hunched over his piano, long fingers dancing nimbly along the keys, filling the wide open foyer with soft, mesmerizing tones. The light that filters in from the high arching windows is soft on the Joker’s bare back, and he briefly lets his thoughts wander. Calloused hands against his skin, and words like gravel in hushed tones in the middle of the night. The smell of Old Spice making his knees knock together, and the day old linger of Kevlar, a rubbery and vaguely chemical residue that makes Joker feel at home. The taste of blood, hot and sharp in his mouth as he tries desperately to memorize every single inch of sweat-sheened skin. The ex ~~crime~~ ~~boss~~ ~~convict~~ ~~killer~~ batfiend shakes his head, cringing and looking for all the world as if he were trying to shake off an attacker. That was another life. Another time. He finds himself becoming distracted once again by the notes that flow gently -really, this was the only thing he’d ever done that could be described with such words as _gentle-_ from his fingertips, and he feels himself sway as he redirects his emotional outpour Away from the heart and into the hands. It’s helped. He felt lighter, nearly shaken free of the nightmares- my Lord, the _nightmares_ and what if’s- what if I would have, what if I should have, what if I could have? What if, what if, what if? that had plagued him as of late. 

That is, until the shift in atmosphere triggered by the presence of someone else. His fingers falter and notes discord and the silence is overwhelming in its suddenness. Judging by the stretching of the silence, and stoic aura that invades the room, Joker guessed it had to be Frost.

“What?”

“The boy. He’s dead.”

A weighty newspaper slaps down onto the bench beside J’s thighs. It was a Gotham City Gazette, dated for three days previous.

 ** _“Jason Todd found bludgeoned to death.”_** Joker reads the headline aloud, and sighs, almost drawing his too long lips into a frown. “Only a matter of time, hm?”

He chuckles.

Frost says nothing, just raises his brows and blinks.

“Who did it?” His tone takes on more poison than Frost had heard in a year, and his lips begin to curl upwards.

“Boys back home–”

“What have I said about calling it _home,_ Frost?” J growls low in his throat, aiming that poison at Frost, calm slowly draining to form an annoying sort of pressure behind his now cinched lids.

“Boys back in _Gotham_ say it was just a random act of violence. A drifter, mugging him for his wallet. Guy was gone before anyone even found the boy to call the Bat.”

“You know as well as I do that nothing happens at random, especially there.” Joker gathers his song booklet– really could he call it that? There were no music notes, not a single staff. Just photographs and articles– and heads for a long hallway that leads to his bedroom. “I think it’s time to go, don’t you Frost?”

“I never did like Paris.”


	2. Chapter 2

An unstamped envelope addressed to _Darling_ sits unopened in front of Bruce. Just like it had been for hours, from the moment Alfred had handed it to him until now, when Bruce was fighting the urge to send it through the shredder without breaking the seal. The handwriting was so painfully  _his_ it nearly made the  ~~ache in his chest disappear~~  older man smile.

 

It had been a year. The Joker had been gone an entire year.

 

Bruce fears he may be sick as he slides the tip of an exacto knife along the top of the envelope-- not along the seal, never the seal because that's always where J would leave his own kind of 'stamp' in aggressive red lipstick but there isn't one this time and it makes Bruce's gut twist so fiercely he has to force his hands to stop the slight waiver they'd adopted after he notices-- and the dark haired man is hit so hard with the smell of lavender, ink, and burnt matches he nearly doubles over. The paper is folded neatly into three syemtrical sections, and Bruce finds himself ~~smiling,~~ ~~just a little~~  pleasantly surprised when he pulls the sections open and a puff of fine grit glitter scatters across his desk. It feels so routine it almost makes him forget. Until he blows away the glitter and starts to read, anyway.

 

_My dearest Batsy,_

_I trust this last ~~how long has it been~~  year has treated you the same way it has me:  ~~miserable, I want to come hom~~ e rather well. I've had some time to deliberate what you said the last time we spoke. Do you remember what you said? Because I do. I've had it swirling around like a fish in a tea  ~~glass~~  cup all this time._

Bruce remembers with alarming clarity exactly what he had said on that rooftop, and the expression on the Joker's face was one he hadn't stopped seeing since the moment it happened. He begins to crumple the letter, but instead forges on, just in case he has to be ready for J's return.

_I heard about your poor little bird, Bats. It's a shame, really. Have you found him yet, darling? The man who put his hands on your cageless thrush? Have you buried poor Jason with a ~~nother~~  vow of revenge against those who wronged him?_

Bruce clenches his jaw, grip tightening along the rumpled edges. Jason-- if he squeezed his eyes hard enough the image would disappate into a burst of lightspots and color. The paper nearly splits against his vice grip but he forces himself to smooth it out again and spread his palms across the cool surface of the wood.

_I suppose, ~~dear Bruce~~ , you've been wondering. About me, and when I should return from the city of light back into the darkness of ~~home~~  Gotham. You've been eagerly awaiting my return.  ~~with open arms.~~ Assaulted my men. Ransacked my spots. Even tried to beat it out of the rest of the underbelly. It has been so quiet here, my love. So very soft and bright and yet... I am ready for the harsh dark. I can feel it calling me back. Do you wonder, Batsy, why they-- the common folk, do not understand you? "Out of the eater, came forth meat. And out of the strong, came forth sweetness."_ _~~You are the answer.~~_

Bruce's brow furrows. Where had he heard that before? He repeats it to himself a few times, and makes a note to look it up later. He contemplates asking Alfred, but shakes his head. It would make much less sense if he said it out loud to someone else, since it barely made sense when he said it alone.

_Be ready, my sweet. Your darling is ready to stretch his legs as a newly found clown._

_♡_

_J :0)_

 

Bruce scrubs a hand down his face. It was going to be a long night. 


End file.
